"Perhaps," she said, with a readier mental acquiescence than the word expressed.
"A man wants so many things," continued Alfred, with only one interpretation of "man" in his mind, and that was himself, "that a girl has no idea of. He has to move in the world, and do as others do, if he doesn't want to look mean and shabby; it's hard lines on a fellow when it comes to that. Now a girl's different; so long as she's comfortable at home she's all right. There is no occasion for her to knock about."
"Alfred," said Lily, looking into his face suddenly, "you speak as if you were in trouble."
"And if I were, and if you could help me, Lily, would you?"
"Would I?" She took his hand and kissed it, as she had done once before this morning. A wise man, or, rather, one who had learnt wisdom (for the two definitions are not synonymous), who was strolling in the gardens, saw the action, and thought, "How fond that girl is of that young fellow!" naturally setting them down as sweethearts; and in his superior wisdom smiled somewhat sneeringly at the hollowness of love's young dream. "Would I! What would I not do for those I love!" It was her heart that spoke. "Tell me your trouble, Alfred."
"Money," he replied curtly; "that's my trouble."
"Can I help you, dear? I earn some."
"And give it all to grandfather," he said bitterly; for he thought of what better use he could make of Lily's earnings than his grandfather, and how many fine chances of backing the right horses he was throwing away for want of means.
"Yes," she said, in a surprised tone at his bitterness; "surely that's right, Alf?"
"O, I suppose it is," he answered, in a rough, ungracious manner; "whatever grandfather is mixed up with, and whatever he does, must be right, of course."